On December 6, 1940, the world war was still raging when a British representative secretly arrived in Sofia. This was the third secret contact between the two countries since the outbreak of the war.
"Sir, I'm delighted to see you again. What a pity the weather is so poor today!" Coleman said with a chuckle.
Poor did not begin to cover it—it was downright dreadful. Sofia's climate had been exceptionally abnormal that year. In what should have been a season blanketed in ice and snow, torrential rain had begun to fall instead.
Fortunately, Sofia's transportation was quite good now. Thirty-odd years earlier, they would have had to experience the might of muddy roads for themselves.
"Mr. Coleman, you picked a terrible day!" Chamberlain complained.
Under the butterfly effect caused by Ferdinand, Chamberlain had lost his chance to ascend to the premiership. Yet that might have been a good thing for him—the infamy history had assigned him no longer needed to rest on his shoulders.
Without the political pressure of being condemned by thousands, he was still lively and kicking, showing no signs whatsoever of falling ill.
"Sir, all of this is God's will. How was I supposed to know the rain would be this heavy today?" Coleman said, smiling merrily.
It was an exceedingly clumsy excuse. Not even an ordinary person would have believed it. Bulgaria already had weather forecasts in this era—could he, the foreign minister, really have failed to grasp the weather conditions?
Clearly, Coleman had deliberately arranged this scene today. Naturally, his purpose was to throw Chamberlain off balance and seize the initiative in the negotiations.
"Very well, Mr. Coleman. It seems even God is displeased with this war. Why don't we work together to end it?" Chamberlain asked hopefully.
"Of course. That is an excellent proposal.